User blog comment:Biggren/The Northern March Original/@comment-3135907-20160131070425

@Blue: Feffle tramped into the woodland edge and tossed himself down on the cushioned, leafy forest floor with a relieved sigh, too exhausted to perform a perimeter sweep as he was. "Whew, finally...flippin' made it...sah," the nearly-winded hare managed between gasps of air. "Shouldn't...hfff...be long b'fore we...ahh...bally well reach th' river tribut'ry...eh wot! C'n reload the old canteens there, chum, I mean, sirrah," he added before emptying his half-full water ration flask in a few quick swallows. The harejack pulled himself up and, much refreshed, began limbering up with the energy of a youth, hopping from paw to paw and flexing his worn limbs. "Great Scott; nothin' like a dashed fun old jog through Mossflower Wood t' brighten a sport up, donchathink?"